


More Than He Seems

by roseverdict



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: :), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Ford Pines Never Went Through The Portal, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, Digital Art, Enemies to Brothers Speedrun, Ford Pines Needs a Hug, Gen, Not stancest - Freeform, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Shapeshifter!Stan, Stan Pines Needs A Hug, canon-divergent journal entry, even so it still has the Vibe™, had to change my tags to a not-john-mulaney reference, i call it a journal entry but it's written in a notepad, rated for coarse language, stan has a potty mouth, stancest shippers Do Not Touch, they're working on it but they're not there yet, what with the journals being hidden at this point in time
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-18 15:22:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28745418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roseverdict/pseuds/roseverdict
Summary: In which Ford sends for his brother and doesn't learn about Stan's shapeshifting abilities until they're already yelling at each other, and it all gets crazier from there.(Or, the one where Rosie reads one (1) fic about the idea of Stan being granted shapeshifting powers during his homeless days and she promptly goes off the shits.)
Relationships: Ford Pines & Stan Pines
Comments: 130
Kudos: 133





	1. A Postcard, a Portal, and a Parasite

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Shifting Bodies, Shifting Souls](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15133043) by [captainofbrooklyn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainofbrooklyn/pseuds/captainofbrooklyn). 



> so i stumbled across Shifting Bodies, Shifting Souls and was inspired
> 
> and by “inspired” i mean _“my brain latched onto the idea of slightly-to-the-left-of-human stan getting into hijinks and such and then the inevitable angstfest that happens when he gets ford’s postcard”_ and i immediately started writing fic set in this ‘verse because i have no impulse control
> 
> anyway here’s ~~wonderwall~~ the stan twins’ reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: local shapeshifter mullet stan has issues of the “why am i here? who am i? am i really myself?” variety which i’m pretty sure there’s an Actual Term™ for but it escapes me at the moment. it mostly manifests in him referring to himself by his full name and only his full name for a while. also a bit of swearing from stan because he’s had A Long Series Of Mostly-Canon-Compliant Terrible Horrible No-Good Very Bad Days and isn’t retelling it and censoring it for a couple of preteens and a soos.

It had been four years since the person once known as Stanley Pines had come across the probably-not-really-an-old-lady who’d somehow given him the power to become anyone and everyone else.

Or, well, it would be four years in a few months, but he wasn’t going to nitpick.

He held his breath as he heard the sound of footsteps receding from his motel room, and as soon as he was sure they were gone, he slipped out of the shape of a child (small, innocent, _harder to notice_ ) and back into himself.

There was a postcard below the door.

He frowned, cautiously stepping closer to pick it up. On the back, or maybe the front (he never _was_ quite sure which side was which), there was a photo of some picturesque forest with the stylized words “Gravity Falls” overlaid atop it.

His breath hitched.

He flipped the postcard over-

It was addressed to _Stanley Pines._

It was _from Ford._

The person who’d received the postcard stared at the hastily-scrawled “PLEASE COME” that took up the entire left side of it.

There wasn’t anything else to go off of. Did Ford need him for something? Did Ford get into trouble of his own? Did Ford want to see him? To _talk?_

Maybe…

…maybe he could afford to be Stanley Pines again, just for his brother.

Just for a few days.

〜〜〜〜〜〜

For those familiar with the events that took place in 1983 in Dimension 46’\, the following days mirrored them almost religiously.

Stanley Pines drove like a bat out of Hell to reach Gravity Falls.

Stanley Pines found himself walking the last leg of his journey in the freezing Oregon winter.

Stanley Pines found his brother a paranoid, twitchy shell of who he’d once been.

Stanley Pines followed his brother into the basement.

When they were in the basement, however, their timeline once again veered away from that of 46’\ with one simple sentence, one which carried a harsher consequence than its 46’\ counterpart.

“Stanley, you don’t understand what I’m up against! What I’ve _been through!_ ”

Stanley Pines’s blood boiled.

“No, no, _you_ don’t understand what _I’ve_ been through!” He snapped. “I’ve been to prison in three different countries! I once had to chew my way out of the trunk of a car! You think _you’ve_ got problems?”

In 46’\, Stanley Pines followed this with the declaration, “I’ve got a _mullet,_ Stanford!”

In this dimension, he followed it with an angry “I’m not even sure I’m _human_ anymore, Stanford!”

For emphasis, so there could be no mistake that he meant it literally, he let his form flicker, startling Ford and making him go white as a sheet.

He kept going, back to his solid, original self. “Meanwhile, where have you been? Living it up in your fancy house in the woods-!”

“Not human?” Ford’s voice came out a venomous hiss.

“Hell if I know!” Stanley Pines held his arms out wide in a mockery of a shrug, viciously wishing he could have real flames come from his eyes, but knowing his ability could only go so far. “Then again, _you’ve_ been out here living your dream! It’s been _ten damn years,_ Stanford, and-!”

Something in Ford’s face hardened.

(Stanley Pines hadn’t even realized that was possible at this point.)

“I should have _known!_ ” Ford snapped. “The real Stanley would _never_ have come, would he?”

That…was _not_ where Stanley Pines had expected this fight to go.

(He clung to his old identity with a new fervor. He hated it more than anyone else ever could, but if there was another creature out there that could take it for their own, if there was another creature that could _hurt someone under his name-!_ )

His thoughts whirled around his skull, but all that managed to come out of his mouth was an eloquent “Whuh?”

Ford grit his teeth and clenched his fists. “Don’t play dumb with me, Shifty! You escaped the bunker, intercepted my postcard, and took on my brother’s form so you could get me to hand over my journal and the forms therein, but _I won’t let you escape again!_ ”

Stanley Pines swallowed and held the beat-up journal a little closer. “Okay, um, I feel like we’re running on completely different-!”

“GIVE ME BACK MY RESEARCH!”

Ford leapt at him, eyes wild.

Stanley Pines fell to the ground, the journal knocked from his hands. Ford scrambled to grab it, but Stanley Pines tripped him and snatched it up, glancing back at his brother. “Clearly, being cooped up out here has driven you nuts-!”

“GIVE IT _BACK!_ ” Ford roared, shoving Stanley Pines into the control room and up against a wall of switches and levers, grappling with him for the journal.

Stanley Pines snarled, “Oh, you want it back, you’ll have to try a little harder than that!”

The two fell to the floor, tumbling one over the other until Ford lay on his back and Stanley Pines stood over him, washed out by the flashing red of the control room and unearthly blue of the portal. (When had it turned on?)

“You left me behind, you asshole! It was supposed to be us forever! You ruined my life!” Stanley Pines ground out, stubbornly forcing his tear ducts to vanish so they couldn’t betray him.

“You’re not even Stanley, and I’ll prove it!” Ford shouted, lifting a foot to Stanley Pines’s chest and _kicking him back into a-!_

For one, agonizing second, he only knew pain.

Fire coursed through his veins and lightning lanced through his brain, and his form flickered through countless variations before returning to what it had been. He became dimly aware of a bloodcurdling scream from somewhere nearby. He kind of wished that whoever was screaming would stop, actually. If he wanted to scream, he could do it himself, _thank you._

It wasn’t until he fell to the ground and the agony centered itself on the back of his shoulder that Stanley Pines came back to himself.

He realized he _was_ the one who’d been screaming.

(If he hadn’t been in so much pain, he’d be embarrassed.)

Ford seemed horrified. “W-wait, _Stanley?!_ It really _is_ y-?”

Stanley Pines punched him in the nose.

Ford stumbled back into the portal room and fell against a lever, and as machinery began to clank and whirr, Stanley Pines stormed after him, picking the fallen journal up almost as an afterthought.

“Some brother _you_ turned out to be.”

Smoke rose from his shoulder and the acrid smell of burnt flesh and polyester assaulted his nose.

“You care so much about your dumb mysteries that you can’t even recognize your family when it’s right in front of your face?”

Ford’s eyes were impossible to make out with the blinding light of the portal behind him, but if Stanley Pines had to guess, he’d imagine Ford was glaring at him.

“WELL THEN, YOU CAN _HAVE 'EM!_ ”

Stanley Pines’s hands shoved the journal into Ford’s chest-

-and then Ford began to float.

His rage twisted into something different, something he didn’t _dare_ identify. “Whoa, whoa, _hey,_ what’s going on? Hey, hey, _Stanford!_ ”

Ford was floating _towards the portal._

He flailed in the air, terror evident in his every movement. “Stanley! _Stanley, help me!_ ”

In Dimension 46’\, Stanley Pines would be helpless to do anything but watch.

In this dimension, he glanced around fearfully until catching sight of the nearby lever.

“Stanley, _do something!_ ”

An idea sprang to mind.

Stanley Pines had never before needed to make himself look like anything other than another face in the crowd, but if there was any time to change that, it was then.

He gulped and launched his right arm at the lever, stretching and stretching and stretching some more until his hand reached it, six feet away.

Good. He knew it was possible now.

Stanley Pines gripped the lever with everything he had-

-and _flung his left hand at Ford’s leg!_

His arm grew and grew, and he saw Ford’s eyes widen in shock, but then his fingers closed around Ford’s ankle and he couldn’t spare any thought for Ford’s mental state.

All that mattered now was fighting the pull.

All that mattered now was getting Ford out of danger.

Stanley Pines screamed from the effort (and his shoulder screamed back at him in protest), but he managed to take one step back, and then another, and another, and then he was stumbling away from the hungry portal, Ford falling on top of him in a tangle of limbs.

The portal roared as it lost power, as though it was a ravenous predator and Stanley Pines had just stolen its prey.

Stanley Pines just heaved for air and painstakingly pulled his arms back to the proper lengths, shakily keeping his burnt shoulder off the ground as best he could.

“Stanley, I…”

“Zip it, Stanford.” Stanley Pines snapped, sitting up and trying to get his legs under him. “You’ve made your point _quite_ clear.”

His legs gave out, and he groaned. “Oh, of all the _shitty luck-!_ ”

Ford pushed himself upright in the corner of Stanley Pines’s vision, and Stanley Pines had to hide a wince at the horror in his brother’s face. “Stanley, what _happened_ to you?”

Accepting that his legs were going to make him pay for the stunt he’d just pulled with his arms, Stanley Pines huffed. “Do you want the short version or the long version? Because the short version is that I’m pretty sure I ran into a witch and she took pity on me.”

Ford blinked.

No impassioned excitement over the existence of a witch with the ability to turn someone into a shapeshifter. No wide-eyed terror of the thing that had once been his brother. No anger over Stanley Pines meeting a real, honest-to-goodness magic user when _Ford_ was the one who studied the weird and the anomalous. No pity directed at Stanley Pines’s casual mention of the person who had apparently changed him into something just to the left of human.

Somehow, the exhausted blink was _worse._

“If you want the long version, I’m getting myself some ice first.” Stanley Pines grimaced, forcing himself to his feet. “I’m _not_ dealing with this _and_ a third-degree burn.”

At that, Ford scrambled to his feet. “The sigil! Oh my gosh, Stanley, I’m so sorry, if I’d realized it was really _you,_ I would’ve never-!”

“Yeah, well, you _did._ ” Stanley Pines snapped, clutching at the shoulder in question. (Was there a sigil burnt into his back now?) “Ice now, words later.”

This was how the two found themselves sitting in what was _probably_ Ford’s kitchen a few minutes later.

Stanley Pines slumped against the table and let a bag of frozen peas sit against his burn, and for a moment the freezing cold let him breathe properly for the first time since being injured.

Then he shifted in place and rested his chin on his arms, levelling a hard glare at Ford and the notebook in his hands. “So. The long version started on our twenty-fifth birthday…”

〜〜〜〜〜〜

_**More Than He Seems?** _

_I sent word for the man I intended to take the final journal, but to my surprise, it seems he, too, has come into contact with the supernatural! Or, more accurately, he has BECOME supernatural! (Shukdsv L vkrxogq'w eh vxusulvhg, wr eh iudqn. Zh vhhp wr kdyh ~~edg~~ ~~vkl~~ rgg oxfn lq wkdw uhjdug.)_

_When he first arrived, I had assumed he was the same selfish man I remembered, but he seems almost_ broken _as he recounts his tale to me: on the night of ~~our~~ his 25th birthday, he was approached by a woman who I’ve identified as a magickal crone of some kind. Much like in the fairytales of old, she approached him for aid, and when he gave what he could to her, she offered him a boon in return._

_**(A sketch of a man in a zip-up hoodie, his eyes obscured by shadows. He holds a duffel bag over one shoulder.)** _

_(Kh vdbv vkh dvnhg zkdw kh zdqwhg iru klv eluwkgdb. Kh doohjhgob dqvzhuhg, “Wr eh dqbrqh rwkhu wkdq klpvhoi.”)_

_(9-19-25 26-1-18-8 12-3-7 20-9 3-9-7-2 5-19 5-19-25-2-6-22-16-8-6-19-26? 13'14 17-11-7-5-13-15-11 22-3-1 17-2-18-1 25-17-3 17-13-7-17-17-23 16-10 22-22-21-23 17-25-2-14-24-9.)_

_His boon revealed itself during an altercation with some of the shady characters he’s encountered over the past decade: the ability to shapeshift! Unlike Shifty, he was not born with this ability, nor do his character or genome seem to be changing for the worse as he uses it. He prefers human faces, but for the most part, has stayed in the form that I assume is what he would look like if he_ hadn’t _gained this ability._

_**(A sketch of the man’s face, caught in an anguished scream of pain. Three exclamation points float above his head.)** _

_This leads me to my other point. When he came, I was aware of none of this. When I showed him the depths of my folly, he ~~had the audaci~~ countered with folly of his own, revealing his paranormal nature to me._

_**(A sigil. Specifically, the sigil on the control panel of the portal.)** _

_I…took it badly._

_(R yizmwvw nb ldm yilgsvi drgs z hrtro nvzmg gl ezklirav fmuirvmwob vmgrgrvh, ufoob yvorvermt srn gl yv zm vhxzkvw Hsrugb! Lm gsv lmv szmw, R zn rnnvzhfizyob tozw gszg sv hfierevw zmw gszg R xzm mld szev hlnvgsrmt hlorw gl zmxsli nbhvou gl ivzorgb, yfg lm gsv lgsvi, ~~sv xlfow hgroo hfxxfny gl rmuvx~~ ~~gsrh rh qfhg zmlgsvi rm nb olmt hgirmt lu nrh~~ ~~R YIZMWVW NB LDM UF~~ dliwh xzmmlg vckivhh sld sliiryov R uvvo.)_

_In the fight that followed, he was injured, the portal was reactivated, and I was nearly pushed through. It was only the quick thinking of this man that saved me, using one arm to anchor himself and stretching the other to reach my leg and pull me back._

_As he tells me his story now, immediately after the fact, (drgs uilavm kvzh lm srh yizmw rm zm vuulig gl ovhhvm gsv kzrm,) I believe I will not record it. Some things are not meant to be saved to the history books, and if the way he keeps skipping over large chunks is any indication, it is as uncomfortable for him to retell as it is for me to hear._

_**(A sketch of a bag of peas, held closed by a rubber band wrapped around the open end.)** _

_I am going to offer him my spare room. It is the least I can do after harming him so._

_(Dqg shukdsv L'p ehlqj d elw vhoilvk lq zdqwlqj wr nhhs vrphrqh forvh iru zkrp L kdyh vrolg hylghqfh L fdq wuxvw…hyhq li L lqiolfwhg wkdw hylghqfh xsrq klp pbvhoi zkhq qrw lq pb uljkw plqg.)_

_I can only hope he accepts._

〜〜〜〜〜〜

“…and for the past four years, I’ve been pretty much anybody and everybody that _wasn’t_ Stanley Pines.” He finished, though he did manage a sardonic laugh. “Fat lot of good it did me. I couldn’t bring myself to cut off all contact with Ma, and that’s probably how you managed to find me, and now here we are.”

“Here we are…” Ford murmured, unable to meet Stanley Pines’s eyes as he set the notebook aside.

“So, what’s this 'sigil’ supposed to do?” Stanley Pines asked, tilting his head against his arms like a tired student falling asleep at his desk. “Considering I’m pretty sure it’s gonna be on my back for the rest of time, and all.”

Ford cringed, but answered, “It’s meant to be a ward against evil supernatural beings. I've…had some run-ins with malevolent tricksters before. One was an alien with a remarkable affinity for shapeshifting similarly to how you can. The other is a triangular demon that can enter one’s dreams and make deals. He desires to have a physical form of his own, but is not above possessing others to enact his schemes.”

“Okay, but what’s it gonna do to _me,_ Science Guy?” Stanley Pines almost rolled his eyes.

“Well, that’s the rub.” Ford admitted. “We were fighting, so the sigil must have recognized you as an attacker and acted accordingly, incapacitating you while you were in contact with it. At the same time, you…”

Stanley Pines gestured with one hand for Ford to keep going. “I…what?”

“…you saved me from being lost to the portal, so you couldn’t have been intending to do lasting harm.” Ford breathed, as though the mere idea froze him in place. “The sigil recognized you as not malicious at heart, so while it caused you to halt your attacks, it didn’t disintegrate you like it would have if you were truly malevolent!”

“Wait, it woulda _what-?!_ ”

“And then it used the less lethal deterrent as a method to imbue itself into you as well!” Ford concluded, walking around to swap out Stanley Pines’s wet bag of peas for another, fresh from the freezer. “You ought to be warded against such entities now, yourself!”

Stanley Pines groaned and let his forehead drop to the table with a 'clunk.’ “Whoopee. A magic whatsit decided I’m not as big an asshole as I coulda been, so instead of just killing me instantly, it fucking _branded_ me. Is this gonna heal up anytime soon?”

“Unfortunately, it will likely take as long to heal as any mundane burn this bad would.” Ford admitted.

Stanley Pines buried his face in the crook of his elbow. “Dammit.”

Ford muttered to himself, turning to leave the room. “I’ll have to clear out one of the extra rooms, maybe see if the spare mattress is still in relatively okay shape…”

“Wait, what?” Stanley Pines stiffened. “Stanford, you really don’t have to-!”

“Perhaps not, but Stanley, I _want_ to.” Ford cut him off and sat down across from him. “Were you _anyone_ else, were you free of the sigil now on your back, I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t be able to afford to trust you. As it stands, you’re really you, you really _came,_ you’re _safe_ from whatever the demon might use me to do, and you’ve _clearly_ been through a different sort of Hell than mine over the past ten years.”

Stanley Pines lifted his incredulous gaze to his brother’s. “I’m sorry, _what was that about the demon using you?_ Can we go back to that?”

“I told you before, I’ve made mistakes.” Ford sighed and intently studied a dark stain on the table. “One of those was extending my trust to a being that didn’t deserve it.”

Stanley Pines glanced around the house with a new understanding, seeing places where a human body the size of Ford’s must have been slammed into stairs and walls where before he’d just seen a mess.

“He possesses you, doesn’t he.”

It wasn’t a question.

“…yes.”

Stanley Pines…no, _Stan_ dropped his forehead back into his arms. “Alright. _Alright._ Guess I’ll hang around a bit longer.”

It wasn’t like he had anything to go back to.

“So, how do you plan on getting this asshole out of your brain?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i just realized the images might be Tiny but if you go to [the tumblr post,](https://roseverdict.tumblr.com/post/640256333812318208/more-than-he-seems) you should be able to get a better look. and if not i'll have to fistfight the internet in the morning so i can unleash the full-resolution images on the world wodjsldjd


	2. A Nap, a Nasty, and a New Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Stan meets the bane of his brother's existence, a plan is made to deal with him, and his brother finally 👏 gets 👏 to 👏 sleep! (Not necessarily in that order.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **snord help me i’m back on my**
> 
> **_★·.·´~bullshit~`·.·★_ **
> 
> _i am but a monkey gifted with access to a typewriter and given no rules with which to constrain myself_
> 
> this one’s more a talky chapter, but we also get to see bill for the first time so there’s that. stan is not a fan of the resident demon dorito.
> 
> warnings: not much. bodily possession of a nerd by everybody’s least favorite piece of geometry. aforementioned geometry-in-a-nerd-suit proceeds to get tied up and he is Not Happy about it. more of stan’s potty mouth.

****“His name is Bill Cipher. I first summoned him via reading an incantation recorded on a cave wall, deep within the cliffs surrounding this town.” Ford began. “My original plan to take care of him was to make the trek up to the caves again and deface the summoning instructions. I had planned on waiting until you had the journal and were well away from the town, but since that’s not happening any time soon-”

“You better believe it!”

“-I suppose I will have to account for your continued presence…I know I have enough supplies for a one-person trip there, but if both of us are to go and return, it will have to be postponed until there are enough supplies for the both of us.”

“…okay, that’ll keep the asshole out of _other people’s_ brains.” Stan conceded, filing away the odd way Ford had phrased his plans for later. “That still doesn’t answer my question, though. What about _yours?_ ”

“I'm…I’m not entirely sure it can be done.” Ford’s voice came out quiet and resigned. “When I trusted him, I trusted him so _completely_ that I allowed him access until the end of time itself. Even though I have done my best to do damage control, I can’t take that back.”

Stan scowled at a particularly fresh stain on the far wall. “I call bullshit. There’s gotta be _something._ ”

“If there is, I have yet to find it.” Ford sighed, glancing away. “Aside from pie-in-the-sky ‘plans’ that aren’t even _feasible-!_ ”

“And exactly _how much_ sleep have you been getting?” Stan countered, turning his scowl on his brother. “You’re not firing on all cylinders, Stanford. Get some rest if you can, and _then_ give this mess another look. That’s Problem-Solving 101!”

“But what about Cipher?” Ford protested, his face pale. “The moment I fall asleep, he’ll swoop right in and, _and-!_ ”

“ _And,_ I’ll deal with it.” Stan cut him off. He shifted his shoulder slightly, the peas in the bag rustling. “I’m not gonna be getting any sleep for a while, anyway. If this 'Bill’ guy starts causing trouble, I’ll keep him in line and make sure he can’t leave your body worse than how he got it. Once you wake back up, w- _you’ll_ be able to think more clearly.”

When Ford next spoke, a long moment later, it was with a quiet, _shaky,_ “You’re sure?”

“Positive.” Stan twisted his scowl into a self-assured smirk, forcing himself to not look as worried as he felt. “Now _rest,_ Stanford! It's… _wow,_ it’s one in the morning!”

(Stan tried not to think about how easy it felt to slip back into the role of 'the one who told Ford to sleep like a sane person,’ even after so many years.)

“Right. Right, I'll…I’ll go rest.” Ford stood up from the table and staggered to the doorway, his voice dropping to a cracking murmur. “I’ll rest. I can rest now.”

Stan swallowed, watching the shell of his brother stumble away. _Hoboy._

There was still a part of him that wanted to keep yelling at Ford for what he’d let their pa do ten years ago, but it was quickly being overwhelmed by the growing need to get him back to full health.

 _Ford had only called him there because he needed something from him,_ the devil on Stan’s shoulder insisted.

The angel on his other shoulder countered that _Ford was in way over his head!_

_Ford had dug his own grave._

_Ford didn’t deserve to have an_ actual demon _use him as a puppet for the rest of eternity!_

Oh, _curse his brotherly instincts!_

Setting his bags of peas aside, he got up and trailed Ford to one of the open rooms, just in time to see him drop face-down onto an unmade bed in a dead faint, still dressed.

A blink later, Ford’s body shot back up, and too-bright eyes and a too-wide grin twisted back to face Stan.

Hm. Yellow eyes and funky pupils. That’d be useful to remember.

“Well, well, well, _hey_ there, little Fishy!” Ford’s voice giggled, nasal and grating.

Stan crossed his arms and made himself a smidgen more imposing in the doorway. “I take it you’re Bill, then?”

“Oh, you’ve heard of me!” Bill-Ford (Bord?) beamed, pressing Ford’s fingers to his mouth in faux surprise. “My reputation precedes me!”

“Damn right it does.” Stan snapped, pointing an accusing finger at him. “Let’s get one thing straight. You don’t get free reign of Ford’s body anymore, got that?”

Bord raised an eyebrow at that, the malicious glee draining slightly from his stolen face. “Oh? And who are _you_ to tell me what I can and can’t do with this meatsack?”

“Simple.”

Stan made himself tall enough that he could glare down his nose at Bord without it being too contrived.

“I’m his brother.”

Bord smirked up at him, unfazed. “That didn’t stop you from hurting him ten years ago!”

“You’re supposed to be this all-seeing demon, aren'tcha?” Stan snarled. “You know as well as I do that that was an accident. Besides, Ford’s letting me stay here, only God knows why, and I’m not about to let some asshole with an overinflated ego fuck him up if I have anything to say about it!”

“Oh, sure, _we_ know that.” Bord shrugged nonchalantly. “But Sixer doesn’t! As far as _he’s_ aware, you saw him stretching his wings and decided you would cripple him so he could _never leave y-!_ ”

Stan’s fist found itself buried in the doorway with a crunch of breaking wood, where Bord could see it plain as day.

“The moment I figure out a way to do that to you properly, _that’s you._ ” Stan ground out, using his other hand to pull a cloth of some kind from his pocket. “Y'got that, you demented dorito?”

“You _do_ seem to like punching things.” Bord nodded as if considering Stan’s threat, then smiled too widely again. “I wonder how long it’ll take for Fordsy to decide you haven’t changed! Do you think you’ll be banned from Oregon in a month? What about a week? Maybe even- _mmph?!_ ”

Stan tied the gag around Ford’s head with a silent apology to his brother, but outwardly, he just huffed. “That’s enough outta _you,_ I think.”

Bord gave him an affronted glare, muffled shouts making their way from Ford’s mouth as he tried to go after Stan. Stan, however, being as strong as he needed to be at any given moment, easily wrenched Ford’s shaky, weakened arms behind his back and hefted Bord into the air. Bord started wriggling around like a toddler on Smile Dip, but Stan dropped him on Ford’s mattress and set about restraining him with a businesslike efficiency.

Arms tied behind his back with the pillowcase? Check.

Legs tied together with the sheets? Check.

Blanket wrapped over Ford’s chest and legs and under the mattress like the world’s most cozy seatbelt? Check.

“Sleep tight, Bill.” Stan smirked, stepping back and sitting on the nearby couch, leaning his elbows on his knees. “You’re not going _anywhere_ on my watch.”

Bord screamed under the gag, but all that came out was a venomous “MRGHMPH!!!”

Stan chuckled darkly, shifting back into his usual shape. “Yeah, you’d better just deal with it. I’m making sure Ford gets a _fucking_ good night’s sleep, and _nobody can stop me._ ”

Bord glared at him, but aside from pulling at his restraints and muffled screeches, could do nothing to express his displeasure.

Stan almost gave himself a pat on the back, but his shoulder twinged at the idea.

Ah well. It was the thought that counted.

〜〜〜〜〜〜

Stanford found himself floating adrift in his house.

This was something he recognized immediately, though he hadn’t done it in quite a while.

Usually, this only happened when Bill was in his body while he was awake.

Stanford crossed his arms and floated around warily. If Bill wanted to keep Stanford’s body, he would have to fight him for it.

Muffled shouts slipped out from under one of the doors, cutting off his train of thought. Figuring Stanley had merely stubbed a toe or something, Stanford poked his head inside to investigate.

An exhausted-looking Stanley gave Stanford’s body a deadpan glare from where he sat. “Seriously, you can quit fighting this whenever. Ford’s not alone anymore, and you just gotta deal.”

Bill bit out something that didn’t quite make it past the gag in his stolen mouth, but in the Mindscape, Stanford could hear him loud and clear. _“ONCE I GET OUT OF THESE BINDINGS, I’LL TEAR YOUR STILL-BEATING HEART OUT OF YOUR CHEST WITH MY BARE HANDS AND FEED IT TO YOU!”_

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Stanley rolled his eyes, only for his eyebrows to shoot up as he stared in Stanford’s direction.

Stanford blinked and glanced behind him, but nothing there seemed to have caught Stanley’s attention.

Stanley tilted his head. “That’s new. Stanford, are you aware you’re a ghost or something?”

Wait.

“You can _see me?!_ ” Stanford gasped.

“Okay, uh, those are definitely words you’re trying to make with your mouth, but I can’t hear a thing.” Stanley stated. “I’m just gonna go out on a limb here and guess you weren’t expecting me to see you?”

Stanford raised a finger to explain to him, but after his mind caught up with him, put it back down in favor of shrugging and nodding.

“Huh. Weird.” Stanley frowned in thought before seemingly setting it aside. He gestured to where Stanford’s body strained against his bedsheets in a vain attempt to get loose. “So, is Bill usually this scream-y?”

 _“I’LL SHOW_ YOU _'SCREAM-Y,’ YOU OVERGROWN FISH STICK!”_

Stanford swallowed and floated away from his body in the equivalent of a very large sidestep. He shrugged to Stanley again, wiggling his hand in a “so-so” motion.

Stanley nodded to himself. “Kinda. Got it. Are you as rested as you can be? This whole thing is an absolute clusterfuck, but I’m guessing since it’s been a few hours and you’re sorta conscious now, that’s gonna be as much sleep as you’ll be getting tonight.”

Stanford rubbed the back of his neck, (a few hours? it wasn’t a full night’s sleep, but it was more than he’d been getting before!) but nodded again.

“Alright, then how do we get you back in there?” Stanley asked, pushing himself to his feet.

Stanford frowned, rubbing at his chin as he glanced at his body.

Bill grinned at him. _“You don’t honestly believe he’s going to stay and help you, do you?”_

Stanford levelled a glare at Bill, then turned to Stanley. He mimed throwing his fist into his palm, then pointed to Bill.

Stanley gaped. “You want me to knock him out? Stanford, I’m not exactly a lightweight! You’ll be feeling it for days!”

Stanley did have a point. He always _had_ been the champion boxer when they were children.

_“Ooh, is Fishy gonna beat up his beloved brother?”_

Then again, he’d really rather be in his body than let Bill run amok.

He nodded firmly, pointing harder at his body.

“…if you insist.” Stanley finally conceded, his shoulders stiff as he stood and inched towards the mattress.

Bill just smirked beneath the gag. _“Just you wait, Sixer! You’ll be at each other’s throats in no time! I WON’T EVEN HAVE TO DO ANYTH-!”_

Stanley’s fist met Stanford’s chin, and Bill dropped to the mattress like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

“Lights out, you nutty nacho.” Stanley muttered, shaking his hand out. He glanced back at Stanford. “Once you’re back in there and untied, I’ll get you some ice. You’ll want it, trust me.”

Stanford nodded and dove into his body, filling out his limbs with sensation once more-

-and hissing in pain as his chin yelled at him.

Stanley’s voice reached him as if from across an ocean. “You with me, Stanford?”

Stanford managed a small nod, cracking his eyes open and croaking an, “I’m up,” past the gag.

He caught sight of a Stanley-shaped blob leaning in and inspecting his eyes, then Stanley nodded and ungagged him before moving on to the restraints. “So, uh, if worst comes to worst and we have to do _all that_ again, is there any way we can give Bill the boot _without_ busting you up?”

“As of now, I don’t quite know.” Stanford admitted, pushing himself upright once Stanley freed his chest and wrists. “Theoretically, it _should_ be possible to avoid it in the first place, but without any leads to go off of, we would just be running in circles, dancing to Bill’s tune.”

“Circles…” Stanley murmured, untying Stanford’s legs. “…hey, isn’t it a whole 'thing’ to use circles in magic and stuff? Maybe there’s some kind of spell that you can use to make your head a Bill-free zone?”

Stanford frowned in thought. “I don’t think it would work to cast it directly on myself…perhaps I can figure out a way to Bill-proof the house itself? Oh, but the only thing that _might_ work would be… _ughhhhh…_ ”

Stanley lifted an eyebrow and plopped down on the other end of the mattress. “What’s the hold-up, Stanford?”

“I’ve been working on this problem for weeks, and so far the only potential solution I could think up involves…” Stanford shuddered.

“…attempting to appease the unicorns for a lock of their hair.”

Stanley’s eyebrows shot up at that. “Unicorns? Real, honest-to-God unicorns?”

“Yes.” Stanford groaned. “And they’re _incredibly_ insistent that only one who is pure of heart is worthy to take their hair. I haven’t tried asking them yet, since when I first discovered them I had no need for their hair, but after my dealings with Bill, I doubt they’ll see me as worthy.”

Stanley frowned. “Well, you’re trying to fix your mistakes, aren’t you? That’s already way better than some people I’ve known. A lot of guys just see something they did wrong, whether they meant to or not, and they just bolt.”

(Stanford had a feeling Stanley was talking about more than just unicorn hair.)

He shoved the thought aside. “Even so, I once bore witness to one of their Weighings of Heart, and they are very… _thorough_ in their judgement.”

“It’s worth a shot, ain’t it?”

“…yes, I suppose it is.”

Stanley managed a lopsided grin. “Then for what it’s worth, I say give it a go!”


	3. An Option, an Obligation(?), and an Overly-Fluffy Sweater

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Stanford and Stanley prepare to set out on their quest for unicorn hair. Also, neither really knows how to talk to the other anymore, and it starts to show.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact, this fic has gotten more subscriptions on ao3 in the past 5 days than any of the other fics i’ve written over the past 5 years ever have. **_im both terrified and elated_**
> 
> OH! AND! BEFORE I FORGET! I FINALLY GOT AROUND TO LOOKING UP PROPER CARE FOR 3RD-DEGREE BURNS!
> 
> **DON’T DO WHAT THE STANS DID**
> 
> THEY’RE GONNA GET AWAY WITH IT BECAUSE **_~MAGIC~_** BUT IN REAL LIFE PRESSING THINGS TO A BURN THAT BAD IS A _TERRIBLE_ IDEA
> 
> warnings: none aside from stan’s continued potty mouth!

That morning (specifically, before sunrise, during those precious few hours when few of the forest’s denizens would be awake) found Stanford gingerly applying bandages to Stanley’s brand.

“This is kinda weird, honestly. Not just for the obvious reasons, I mean.” Stanley eventually said, shrugging the shoulder that wasn’t injured. “Everything I’ve learned about third-degree burns is just pretty much screaming at me to do the opposite of all…this. The peas and putting stuff directly on it. That stuff.”

Stanford didn’t particularly want to think about how Stanley had found out about the proper care of harsh burns.

(He also didn’t want to think about how Stanley had apparently known how to properly care for harsh burns _and yet still let Stanford insist on the pea bag and bandages anyway without demanding an explanation until right then._ )

“Under normal circumstances, that would be correct.” He said instead. “However, once we got to the kitchen, your shoulder…”

Don’t think about it, Stanford, _don’t think about it._

“…it had begun glowing a faint blue, as opposed to red.”

Stanley’s face was still turned away from him, but he felt the way he froze in place anyway. “…y'know, _usually_ when things start glowing blue, that means they’re even warmer.”

“Yes, well…there is nothing ‘usual’ about this.” Stanford reminded him. “When I took a closer look, it seemed as though, as far as the skin itself goes, it’s become stable. If I had to guess, the preternatural qualities of both yourself and the sigil must have interacted to disintegrate the cloth in-between and preserve the integrity of your skin tissue’s structure, even if the cells themselves were already deadened. I can’t explain the glowing just yet, but it’s possible that once the skin had stabilized, the sigil activated, causing it to phosphoresce.”

“You know an awful lot about burn injuries for a guy who studies weirdness instead of regular doctor things.” Stanley remarked.

Rather than pointing out Stanley’s own surprising knowledge (and most likely starting a fight, if his hunch about how he learned it was correct), Stanford made a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat. “Oddology tends to take me in many different directions. It would be imprudent to not know how to care for injuries gotten in the pursuit of such knowledge.”

When Stanley next spoke, it was with a note of incredulousness that may as well have been a whole chord. “…what kinds of things are you even _studying_ out here? Besides, y'know, demon portals and unicorns and such. Unless the unicorns breathe _fire-?!_ ”

“No, fortunately, unicorns do not breathe literal fire, though it’s debatable whether their metaphorical flaming tongues might count.” Stanford corrected, muttering the second half under his breath before continuing. “I, ah…I may or may not have had a run-in with a dragon or two in the past.”

“No _way._ ”

“They were nice enough once I made it clear I wasn’t there to slay them, it simply…took a moment to get that across to them.”

“Geez, Si- _tanford,_ you really found what you were looking for out here, didn’t ya?”

For words that could have been laced with any manner of distaste or venom, that Stanford would have _expected_ to be hostile after so many years, they were quiet and impossibly, undeniably fond.

(The burnt flesh of Stanley’s shoulder still glowed slightly beneath its dressing, reminding Stanford that this wasn’t one of Bill’s tricks. For better or for worse, this was really his brother.)

“…I suppose I did.”

He tore the end of the bandage and finished wrapping, setting the roll of bandages aside. “That ought to do it, at least for the time being. How does it feel?”

“Less like my muscles wanna steal my car and move to Hawaii. Still not great, but definitely manageable.” Stanley decided, flexing his shoulder a bit. “…Thanks, Stanford.”

Unable to think of anything to say to that that wouldn’t have the potential to come across badly, Stanford hummed and nodded, giving Stanley’s good shoulder a quick pat before turning away. “I’m going to start getting supplies together for our venture to see the unicorns. I would recommend getting yourself bundled up. We have a bit of a walk ahead of us.”

Stanley gasped quietly, but when Stanford glanced over to look, his brother was just standing up and stretching a bit.

It must have just been a hiss of pain, then.

Stanley nodded to him, scratching lightly at his side. “Gotcha.”

With the confirmation that Stanley was aware of the plan, Stanford headed to his bedroom to collect his things and his thoughts.

The sight of the broken doorway, however, gave him something new to think about.

Stanford inspected it, a hand to his chin in thought. It looked roughly hand-sized, if the other various holes in his walls Bill had left were indication, but it was a bit too high for Stanford’s body to reach if Bill wanted to keep the amount of force necessary to leave such damage.

…plus his hand didn’t feel as though it had punched through solid wood recently.

The only other conclusion Stanford could think of was that _Stanley_ had put the hole there. Certainly, he seemed to prefer to look like himself most of the time, but-

_(Stanford gawked at Stanley’s arm as it extended far past the length it should have been, his hand shooting forward and grabbing Stanford’s ankle before he could drift through the portal.)_

_(And then Stanley screamed again.)_

-he clearly didn’t have any outward qualms about altering his bodily proportions when necessary.

It would definitely explain how Stanford had found his body bound and gagged when he’d simply collapsed onto his bed. Bill must have put up a fight, and Stanley had tied him up in an effort to restrain him.

Surprisingly, or perhaps not, the knowledge that Stanley could keep Bill in check was enough of a mental security blanket that he could turn away from the clear evidence of Stanley’s abilities.

(The fact that Stanford was as uninjured as he’d been when he fell asleep, aside from the dull ache of his nose and slight throb of his chin…well, maybe that had played a part in that, too.)

Stanford dug out his pack and began sorting through the supplies he had inside, separating crumpled-up notes that had gotten crunched beneath other things from rope and old trail mix. A quick whiff of the trail mix told him it was still good, though the bag of jellybeans at the bottom had been squashed into a single jellyblob stuck to the inside of its packaging.

Ech.

He set aside the things he wouldn’t be bringing, only to find his pack had enough space for several other things.

…or possibly one large thing.

Had he seen Stanley in a proper winter coat? Or had he just shown up in the ratty hoodie that currently had a frighteningly-sized hole in the back?

It couldn’t hurt to be too prepared.

Stanford approached his closet, pulling out his coat and the next-thickest garment he could find, an incredibly fluffy sweater he vaguely recalled as being a Christmas gift from Fiddleford’s parents, back in college.

He glanced between the two for a moment. On one hand, the coat would be better at shielding from the cold and the snow. On the other, the sweater would be easier to fit in the pack and was loose enough it likely wouldn’t catch on Stanley’s bandages.

And that was that.

Both of them needed to stay warm, but only one of them needed to account for an extreme injury.

Stanford pulled the coat on over what he was already wearing and rolled the sweater up to slide into the pack.

Outside, the first rays of sunlight peeked through the trees, startling Stanford until he took a look out the window.

It seemed the forest would be waking up shortly.

〜〜〜〜〜〜

That morning (specifically, once the sun rose, as opposed to the early hours when no sane person should be awake) found the two of them bundling up in their thickest winter gear.

Stan glanced at the snow outside and bit his lip. Hopefully the sun would warm the air up a bit over the course of the day, but even with the physical workout of hiking through the snowy forest, his jacket simply wasn’t meant to keep him warm in weather so cold.

Also.

He had bandages over his shoulder now, but there was still a gaping hole in his jacket surrounding the brand, and he had yet to patch it over.

So.

There was that.

…At least the blizzard from the day before seemed to be over.

Ford walked into the front hall and stopped, glancing at Stan’s clothes. “Are you sure you’ll be alright in just that?”

Stan kept himself from looking at the thick winter coat Ford had pulled on over his trench coat, instead just waving him off. “Eh, don’t worry about it.”

“Alright, then…?” Ford didn’t sound convinced, but he dropped it, thankfully. “Now, in summer weather, the unicorns’ enchanted glade is only about a half-hour’s hike away. In snow like this…it might take us up to an hour to get there.”

Already, Stan was _not_ looking forward to the next few hours.

Rather than tell Ford as much, he instead asked, “An enchanted glade, huh? How much you wanna bet they magically kept all the snow out?”

“I’d say there’s a high probability.” Ford admitted, zipping his coat and straightening the straps of his backpack before picking up the crossbow beside the door.

For a moment, Stan didn’t see Ford, the man in his late twenties preparing to embark on a quest to protect his mind and save the world, but Ford, the boy on the brink of teenagerhood bundling up to go enjoy the rare and elusive snow day.

And then the moment passed, and Ford pushed open the front door, and Stan shoved his hands into his pockets and trudged out into the snow.

Snow sparkled with reflected sunlight from Ford’s lawn, the branches of the trees surrounding them, and likely even the Stanleymobile, down at the end of the winding path leading to Ford’s house. Icicles hung from the roof and the trees, glistening in colors Stan was convinced only art students should be able to see.

He just reached up and snapped an unnaturally-long icicle off a tree branch as he reached it, twirling it in his left hand like a cane. “Hey, Stanford, look at this! I’m the Winter Warlock!”

While Ford didn’t burst into laughter like Stan had hoped he would, he _did_ manage an amused snort.

A minor success, but still a success!

They set off into the woods without further ado, and aside from the crunch of the snow beneath their feet and occasional birdsong in the distance, the air between them was silent.

Occasionally, Stan would take a breath to say something, but then he’d catch sight of Ford’s frustrated expression as he stumbled over a root hidden under the snow, or he’d catch the hole in his jacket against the bandages in _just_ the wrong way, or he’d find himself vividly imagining some way for his sentence to get twisted into something completely different-

-well. Suffice it to say, the silence wasn’t as comfortable as he would’ve liked.

That _said,_ when Ford broke it, it was all Stan could do to keep from jumping out of his skin.

“I don’t understand it.”

Stan wouldn’t have gone with that for an icebreaker (heh), but he supposed Ford still had the same trouble with people as he’d always had.

(It hurt somewhat that Ford was having those kinds of troubles breaking the ice with _him._ He knew the past several years hadn’t been kind to him, hell, to _either_ of them, but he hadn’t changed _that_ much, had he?)

“You wanna maybe…elaborate on that?”

“You saw me when I was nothing more than a displaced spirit in the Mindscape.” Ford clarified, focusing intently on where his feet were going. “That’s not something anyone else is able to do. Believe me, I’ve tested to confirm it before.”

Stan looked over at him in surprise, his eyes wide. “Wait, really?”

“Yes, really.” Ford nodded. “Usually, only _he_ is aware of my presence when I’m in such a state, but I don’t exactly enjoy conversing with him, for…obvious reasons.”

Thinking back to the hours he’d had to watch Bord thrash around like a rejected extra from the Exorcist, Stan found himself nodding in agreement.

“It still seems odd to me how you could only see me, not hear me.” Ford continued, slowing down at the top of a steeper hill before picking his way down. “ _He_ has always been able to respond to me, even when he wasn’t looking, so it stands to reason I’m audible to him. What makes you so different…?”

Stan wasn’t sure he liked how science-experiment-y Ford was starting to sound.

“It’s probably just twin telepathy kicking in or something.” He shrugged lopsidedly, his left shoulder rising and falling while his right stayed still. “Or, _hell,_ maybe my special kind of funky luck decided to spice things up. _'Here’s a way to see your brother when he’s evicted from his body! Wait, you wanna_ hear _him? You’re asking for too much!’_ Y'know?”

Ford rolled his eyes. “Doubtful, but after everything I’ve seen in these woods, it wouldn’t be _too_ shocking, I suppose.”

“Well, what would _you_ say is behind it?” Stan asked, using his icicle to push a branch away that would’ve otherwise required him to lift his right hand to block.

Ford glanced over at him as he did so, an unreadable expression flickering across his face before he answered. “My hypothesis would either be the s…the sigil offered an unforeseen way to slice through _his_ tricks, or your shapeshifting powers may have reacted oddly with my own state of being at the time. Perhaps your ability to alter the way others perceive you also allows you a way to see through those who attempt to do the same to you?”

Stan blinked.

He tried to turn Ford’s words over in his head.

He wasn’t really sure how 'shapeshifting’ translated into 'seeing not-really-dead people,’ but if Ford thought it was possible, who was Stan to tell him he was wrong?

Ford’s words from when he’d first arrived echoed in his ears.

_“I’ve made huge mistakes, and I don’t know who I can trust anymore.”_

Stan would just have to make himself be worthy of the clearly-shaky trust Ford had put in him for whatever reason. If that meant going along with whatever Ford had just said on a wintertime trek to see real, actual unicorns, then so be it.

He said none of this.

“Huh. Guess that witch lady’s still helping out when I least expect her to.” He said instead.

Ford chuckled quietly, but didn’t say anything more.

They returned to silence for a while, but without the oppressive aura of before stifling him, Stan found himself clearing his throat and shooting his mouth off. “I mean, I haven’t really, uh, tried the whole 'turning into stuff that’s not human’ thing before, aside from the whole 'Qualified Quartet’ thing in the basement. I wasn’t sure it’d work, but it _did,_ and now I can’t help wondering what would’ve happened if I _hadn’t_ run into that lady.”

He could almost picture it, too. In another world, one where he hadn’t been able to do anything, he would likely fall into a depressed haze after seeing the portal swallow up his brother.

…the portal’s existence meant there was probably another world where that exact thing had happened, actually.

Stan boxed up that thought and filed it away for later. Much later. Preferably never.

“M-my point being, I apparently don’t know my limits as well as I’d thought.” Stan went on, almost stumbling over his words at the same time as on a patch of slick ice. “If it turns out I _can_ turn into stuff other than people, and the unicorns turn out to be even bigger asses than we thought, d'ya think shapeshifted unicorn hair would work?”

Ford thought for a moment. “It might, but I don’t want to risk it not working unless there is no other choice. Would your hair simply grow back afterwards?”

“I mean, probably? I’ve never exactly gone to a haircut as somebody other than me.” Stan shrugged. “And if it doesn’t, I’ve been meaning to chop off this mullet for a while now. May as well do it for a good cause, y'know?”

“Well, at least we have a plan B. Hopefully it’s not necessary, but it never hurts to be too prepared.” Ford conceded. “When we get back, should we need to, I’ll have to make sure there are enough bandages to re-cover your shoulder beforehand.”

Stan opened his mouth to reply, but the bite of the cold air tickled at the back of his nose and throat, and he sneezed instead.

“HAAAAAH- _tchu!_ ”

Ford froze, seemingly caught between the unshakable childhood urge to tease him for his puppy sneezes and…something else.

Stan sneezed again, leaning up against a nearby tree so he had an excuse to not look at Ford. “HAH- _tchu!_ Ugh, are there pollen fairies out here or something?”

“If there are, I have yet to find them.” Ford said. There came the sound of cloth rustling as he continued, “And I highly doubt they’d be out in the dead of winter.”

Stan groaned, but he rubbed his nose dry with his sleeve and turned back around. “I _think_ that was it. Here’s hoping I don’t have another sneezing…fit…”

Ford was holding up a sweater fluffier than anything he’d ever seen, his backpack opened up and much emptier than it had been.

Stan stared.

“I know you said not to worry, but…” Ford shrugged. “It’s February in Oregon.”

Stan swallowed and carefully took the sweater. “Stanford, I…thanks.”

It took a bit of work to get it on, what with the way his right shoulder didn’t like lifting his arm to get it through the sleeve, but soon enough he was straightening the hem and flashing Ford a thumbs-up. “Alright, I’m good.”

Ford nodded and slung his backpack back over his shoulders, picking the crossbow up from where he’d set it against a tree. “We’re nearly there, anyway.”

“Oh, thank _God._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one was hard to write because of how these two are kinda awkward around each other now skdnskdnskdjdkd
> 
> the mystery twins mk 1 will be back in action soon.
> 
> _soon._
> 
> edit: holy shit i just went through the mass of comments and i think im gonna cry ;u; yall are too nice to me i swear


	4. Three Unicorns, Two Scam Artists, and a Scientist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Stan comes face to face with another supernatural creature who tries to play his brother for a fool. (AKA The Unicorn Chapter We've All Been Waiting For)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> do yall realize how hard it is to write early-fic things when your head is full of dramatic final showdowns, heartwarming end-of-story reunions, and memes that won’t make sense until so many chapters down the road? **_it’s all i can do to not explode on the spot_**
> 
> in unrelated news, for those who don’t follow my babblings, i realized there was an error (FORD NEVER ACTUALLY TOLD STAN THAT BILL’S A TRIANGLE BUT STAN WAS STILL USING TRIANGLE INSULTS) so i went back and fixed it. the triangle insults make sense now :D
> 
> warnings: the continued case of stan’s potty mouth and a short scene of violence against unicorns

When Ford finally came to a stop in a snowed-out clearing with a Stonehenge-y circle of rocks, Stan breathed a sigh of relief (and possibly a little exhaustion). "This is it, then?"

"This is it." Ford confirmed, taking a sturdy stance of some kind on one end of the clearing. "Now, I've memorized the chant necessary to bring forth the glade, but if it ever comes down to it, I did record it in the journal I intended for you to take."

"We left that back at the house, didn't we?"

Ford glanced over with steel in his eyes. "The less I know about the whereabouts of the journal, the better. If I don't know, then _he_ can't dig through my mind to find out."

Stan almost let a _"you really should have just said_ that _when we were in the basement"_ slip out.

He forced it back in favor of a "Carry on, then."

Ford nodded and cleared his throat, and in a voice deeper than Stan had thought possible for his brother to ever reach, began to bellow the chant at the top of his lungs and the bottom of his register.

Nothing happened for a few moments, during which time Stan glanced around to see if anybody (or anything) had turned to look at them.

Then the ground shook.

Stan lost his balance, falling onto his butt and gaping at the sight of the not-Stonehenge rising from the snow. Titanic doors inlaid with shimmering gold and jewels towered over the twins, and blossoms Stan had never before seen in all his years of traveling wound around the top of what was very clearly a wall, encircling the glade.

It looked like something right out of one of Ford's childhood fantasy books.

(The way the flowers were wrapped around the top of the wall reminded Stan of high-security prisons, as did the lengths necessary to enter.)

It was beautiful.

(It set off alarm bells in his head.)

Ford finished his chant and coughed, then asked with his usual voice, "Isn't it something?"

"Oh, it's definitely _something._ " Stan agreed, drinking it all in before pushing himself back to his feet. He brushed as much snow off of his pants as he could, though some of it had already melted and soaked through.

Great.

The next few hours were going to be even less fun than he'd thought.

The great doors opened, and Stan and Ford shared a glance before stepping inside.

Immediately, Stan could feel a difference in temperature. "Hah! No snow in here! _Yes!_ "

And then his mind processed the sight before him, in all its psychadelic, eye-searing glory.

Multicolored butterflies fluttered between more of the unearthly flowers that grew and trailed all the way to the top of the wall, a permanent rainbow hung in the mists of a bluer-than-blue waterfall, lush greenery carpeted the ground in a stark contrast to the winter wonderland outside, and to top it all off…

There was a unicorn.

There was a real, live unicorn, and it was wading through the pool at the bottom of the waterfall as though it didn't have a care in the world. Its coat was the color of the sky, with wispy fluffs of fur like a goat's just above lavender-colored hooves. Its mane and the lion-like tuft of its tail glittered in more colors than Stan had ever wanted to know even existed, and when it tossed its head to get its rainbow mane out of its big, pouty eyes, its horn glowed pink, and Stan _felt_ more than heard it when it (she?) whinnied, _"NEEEEEIGH!"_

His eyes burned.

"Oh, hell, this is Thistle Downe all over again." Stan breathed, dumbfounded.

"What?" Ford asked, noticing his reaction to the unicorn's glade.

Stan licked his suddenly-dry lips. "Eh, long story, not really relevant. Let's just say the guy was a fan of the whole 'new-age hippie' thing and leave it at that."

The unicorn looked up at their voices, and she daintily picked her way out of the pond. _"Stanford of the Pines! It has been far too long since your last visit!"_

She froze when her eyes landed on Stan. _"And…a_ second _Stanford?"_

"Stanley." He corrected. "His brother. Nice to meetcha."

 _"…Stanley of the Pines, then."_ The unicorn decided.

"It has been quite a while, yes." Ford agreed, tugging his boots off and gesturing for Stan to do the same. "Unfortunately, neither the reason for my absence nor that for our visit are pleasant ones, Celestabellabethabelle."

Stan lifted a disbelieving eyebrow at both Ford's actions and the unicorn's name, but he pulled his own boots off and set them by Ford's.

 _"Oh? Pray tell!"_ Celesta-what's-her-face chuffed, prancing forward and tilting her head.

"I…" Ford swallowed. "I made a terrible mistake. A demon is able to come and go from my mind whenever I fall asleep, and he intends to cause irreperable damage to our world. I've been at my house this whole time, attempting to put a stop to his plans, but in order to do so…"

Stan goggled at his brother as he _knelt before Celestabella-whatever and bowed his head._

"…We wish to plead with you for a lock of your hair."

Celeste's eyes widened as she took a step back, and she really, truly _smirked_ at them for a moment before schooling her features.

(Louder sirens started going off in Stan's head.)

_"In that case…whichever of the two of you is pure of heart, please step forward."_

Ford got to his feet and took a steadying breath, but Stan placed a hand on his shoulder before he offered himself up for judgement. "Look, if it's between bending the rules a little and letting a demon triangle run free, I'm sure she'll pronounce you pure of heart."

Ford nodded and took a step forward, closing his eyes and holding his arms out at his sides.

Celeste lowered her horn and pressed the tip of it to Ford's chest, lighting up a cartoony heart shape inside him in an unearthly golden color.

For a moment, Stan almost let himself believe she would let them take some of her hair.

_"Not pure of heart!"_

Stan blinked. "Did you not hear the part where he mentioned the world might be on the line, or…?"

 _"I heard him just fine!"_ Celeste whinnied. _"But rules are rules, you know! I cannot merely give away my hair to every single mortal who claims the world is in danger! If I did_ that, _why, I would be bald within a week!_ Bald, _I say!"_

Ford swallowed and clasped his hands together beseechingly. " _Please,_ O Celestabellabethabelle, if there is any way I can prove myself to you, tell me! I cannot in good conscience let this beast roam free!"

Unbidden, a brief memory flashed up in the back of Stan's mind, one of a young Ford trying to convince Crampelter and his goons to not beat him up.

 _"Please, Crampelter, I'm not a freak of nature! I can, I, I can_ prove _it!"_

Stan's eyes narrowed.

Celeste disdainfully chuffed at them, turning her head away and fluttering her eyelashes in disgust. _"You will simply have to come back when you are pure of heart, Stanford of the Pines!"_

 _"Don't talk to me until you have_ normal _hands, freakshow!"_

Stan's voice came out in a hiss, and he wouldn't have been surprised if he'd been on the verge of unintentionally shifting into a snake or something.

"It's a con."

Celeste and Ford both glanced over at him, and he repeated it louder. "Stanford, _it's a con!_ This whole 'pure of heart' business is a _scam!_ This is the same shit Crampelter used to pull, just in a new, eye-straining, psychadelic skin!"

Ford's face found itself caught between horror and indignance, but Celeste just sneered at him. _"And what of it, Stanley? You're the first human to catch on in quite a while, and the last one was just as much a liar as I! Surely_ you _know how satisfying it feels to make someone beg for something you have no intention of giving them?"_

Stan laughed, bitter and angry. "I wouldn't call it satisfying, but sure, let's say I did. _My_ excuse was that I needed to survive. What's _yours,_ Ce-Let's-a-Be-A-Big-Ol'-Bitch? You like making people squirm?"

Celeste reared back, her eyes wide and her nostrils flaring. _"How_ dare _you call me th-!"_

"I'm not wrong, am I?" Stan smirked, advancing past Ford and placing himself between them. "You just think it's fun to crush people's dreams and make folks who are at the end of their ropes finally _snap._ "

"Lied to _again…?_ " Ford breathed, his voice shaking.

"Sorry, Stanford, but it looks like that's the case." Stan shrugged, glancing back at him with an apologetic grimace. "You up for Plan B?"

"It's worth a shot." Ford sighed, letting his hands drop.

Celeste gasped, affronted. _"You two-?!_ You plan to steal my hair?! _"_

Stan and Ford shared a confused glance, but the unicorn had already whipped around to a tiny satyr nearby. _"Sound the alarm! We have thieves in our midst!_ Thieves! _"_

The satyr gasped and hurriedly started tooting an SOS on his panpipes, and with a flurry of hoofbeats, two more unicorns came charging into view. The pink one called out with (Stan had to stifle a snort) a dudebro's voice, _"C-Beth! What's going on over there?"_

Celeste ("C-Beth?" At least other unicorns thought her name was too long, too.) pointed at Stan and Ford accusingly with her horn. _"These two thieves plot to steal our hair!"_

Behind Stan, Ford muttered a disbelieving, "Oh, so now it's _their_ hair, not just hers?"

Both new arrivals whinnied in surprise, but quickly got into fighting positions.

Stan pounded a fist into his open palm, making himself more muscular beneath his jacket and pasting on what he hoped was a confident grin. "Uh, _yep,_ that, uh, that was our Plan B all along! What're you ponies gonna do about it?"

Ford elbowed him and hissed, "Stanley, what are you _doing?_ "

 _"PONIES?!"_ The blue unicorn screeched.

Stan hissed back, "Do _you_ wanna turn your back on a bunch of angry unicorns?"

 _"_ That _does it!"_ Celeste brayed, leading the charge right for them.

What followed was an unforgettable, indescribable forest brawl.

So, of course, Stan's internal running commentary had to try to describe it anyway.

He swerved away from Blue's horn and threw a left hook at his head, dodging the oncoming flurry of hooves from Pink by bobbing from side to side. Almost as an afterthought, he dove between them and ripped some of their manes clean off their necks, curling his hands back into fists around his precious cargo just in time to block a kick from Blue's hind legs. He whirled around and slammed his forearms into the side of Blue's legs to shove him off-target, and he wound up kicking Pink instead.

_"Ow! Hey, careful with your hooves!"_

_"Maybe_ you _should watch where you're_ going! _"_

Stan gaped as the two started going after each other, but he wasn't about to look a gift horse (or unicorn) in the mouth.

A loud, braying shout snatched his attention, and he whirled around in time to see Ford roll out of the way of Celeste's hooves, frantically trying to restring his crossbow. A bolt stuck out of the rock beside the waterfall- he must have missed his last shot.

Celeste reared back up, her hooves flashing in the light.

Stan didn't give himself time to think.

He was shoving both fistfuls of hair into his right hand-

He was shooting across the meadow-

He was winding back with his left fist-

He was tackling-

He was shouting-

" _FORD!_ "

Ford glanced up from his crossbow just in time to see Stan throw a haymaker into Celeste's face, sending her toppling over onto her side instead of letting her trample Ford underfoot.

She scrambled to get her legs back underneath her, but Stan descended on her like a vulture, pinning her legs to the ground and glaring her in the eye. "Go on. Try that again, I _dare_ you."

_"C-BETH!"_

Stan glanced over his shoulder at Pink's voice, but Ford whipped his crossbow up and pointed it at the two unicorns. "Don't come any closer!"

 _"Or else_ what? _You'll shoot?"_ Celeste huffed. _"Oh,_ please. _We all know you can't bring yourself to hurt someone who can't fight back!"_

Ford flinched, and Stan quietly filed away that little tidbit for later.

Outwardly, however, he smirked. "Well, it's a good thing he's not alone, then! And, I mean, _hey,_ to be fair, you _were_ trying to beat the shit out of us before you heard what our 'Plan B' even _was._ "

 _"You said stealing our hair was your plan, didn't you? You said so right to our faces!"_ Pink deadpanned.

"Only once it was obvious you were all ready for a fight!" Stan countered. "Celesta-what's-her-face jumped the gun as soon as we said the words 'Plan B,' and I wasn't about to turn my back on a bunch of pissed-off horses!"

Surprisingly, Pink groaned, and Blue lifted one hoof to his muzzle in frustration. _"Oh,_ c'mon, _C-Beth! Do we have to tell Mother about your compulsive lying again?"_

 _"Guuuys!"_ Celeste whined, tossing her head back like an annoyed teenager.

 _"What_ was _your Plan B, anyway?"_ Blue asked.

"Oh, just this." Stan shrugged and let his hair cycle through colors for a few seconds. "I've never tried being anything other than human-shaped, and I'm not entirely sure it would even _work,_ but we're kinda desperate and low on options, if you couldn't tell. Just not desperate enough to think picking a fight with a bunch of unicorns is a good idea."

 _"A Shapechanger?"_ Blue gasped. _"And you really_ are _Stanford's brother?"_

"Look, can I get off of Celeste or not?" Stan rolled his eyes. "It's a long story I _really_ don't wanna get into right now, and if you unicorns are the type to go around attacking people you can't scam, I don't think I wanna hang around long enough to tell it."

At his words, Blue and Pink shared a worried glance, then nodded. Pink shook his head at Stan and Ford. _"Sorry 'bout her. If there's any way we can keep news of this…_ incident _…from reaching the rest of the forest, we'd appreciate it. We kinda like to keep to ourselves, and that includes when one of us_ oversteps her bounds. _"_ The last few words were said much more forcefully, and he even threw in a glare at Celeste as he said them.

Stan's eyebrows shot up, and he looked to Ford.

Ford, on the other hand, seemed completely gobsmacked at the unicorns' words.

Looked like it was up to Stan.

"Now, when you say 'any way,' do you mean _any_ way?"

〜〜〜〜〜〜

Stan rolled his shoulder and winced slightly as he walked. "That probably didn't help me heal up very much. Ah well."

"Still, Stanley!" Ford burst, his eyes alight with a bit more sanity than his previous mania. "We have the unicorn hair now! I just need to find my moonstones and mercury, and we'll be able to ward the house from Bill's mental tricks!"

"And that'll keep him outta your head for good?"

"As long as I don't fall asleep outside the barrier, yes!"

Stan huffed in satisfaction, shifting his grip on his side of the chest of treasure the unicorns had finally given them as hush money.

Ford glanced down at his end of the chest for a moment, worrying at his lip, but before Stan could ask-

"…thank you, Stanley. If you hadn't been there, I believe I would have fallen for Celestabellabethabelle's scheme, hook, line, and sinker."

Something in Stan's core loosened up at that, some tension he hadn't even _known_ he'd had slipping away.

He walked along blindly for a moment, slightly slack-jawed, before shaking himself and shoving his reactions into the back of his mind. "Yeah, well, _somebody_ had to tell that prissy pony to get her horn outta her ass."

Ford snorted, stifled laughter shaking his shoulders, and Stan let himself bask in the knowledge that there may yet be hope for their friendship.

He also basked in the sunlight between the trees…or at least, he _would_ have basked in the sunlight, if it had been bask-worthy in the first place.

He groused to himself about how the sun hadn't done jackshit to keep him warm while he was out and about, aside from when he was in the enchanted glade. It was pretty out, but "pretty" didn't prevent frostbite (unless there was magic behind it, apparently).

When they got back, he was making soup. It was too damn cold out!

As Stan finally realized how disjointed his thoughts were becoming, his mouth opened, and he let out a long, jaw-cracking yawn.

Ford glanced over at him and cringed.

"Stanley, you haven't slept at all these past few days, have you?"

_Shit._

"…I plead the fifth."

" _Stanley!_ "

"Let's just get this magic barrier thing up and running." Stan deflected. "The less time we gotta deal with Bill, the better."

"…fine."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wowza it's been One Entire Week already since i ignored my common sense and posted chapter 1, huh?
> 
> _please do not expect continued updates at this speed_
> 
> i'm not sure how i'm doing this but i'll try to keep it up, but if i can't then don't hold it against me plz skdjskdmskdmd


	5. The Next Night, the New Normal, and the No-Bill Prize

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the aftermath of sleeplessness reveals itself to be problematic for both twins, and there are many reactions of both the chemical and the interpersonal variety.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guess who's back with another one of these _that's right it's me ya gal_ *slaps this up like one of alex hirsch's naturally-secreted sticky hands*
> 
> see what i meant about having trouble with updating consistently? sajnslfjsofjso i'm still trucking along though so don't count me out!
> 
> i'm also doing some mild finagling of the timeline so it fits better in my brain. as far as the guys going through their enemies-to-brothers speedrun goes, nothing's really changed, i'm just working with what i've learned from journal 3 since starting this whole thing.
> 
> content warnings: nothing beside stan's continued case of foulmouth-itis :D

When they finally got back and dropped the unicorn chest on the floor in the front hall with a clunk, Stan stifled another yawn. "So, you mentioned…y'mentioned mercury and moonstones?"

"Yes. If you could take the unicorn hair and start gluing it around the perimeter of the house, I will locate the other ingredients and arrange them inside." Ford nodded, opening the chest and pulling out the drawstring bag containing the hair. "Make sure there are no gaps. One hair's width ought to be enough, at least to start."

"You got it." Stan tossed up a sloppy salute, then took the bag and headed back out, swiping a bottle of glue from a nearby stack of junk as he passed by.

The burst of cold air from outside helped snap Stan out of what had been shaping up to be a sleepy daze, and he gave his cheeks a few quick slaps to get the feeling back into them. He'd pulled off more all-nighters in a row than this, though he wouldn't tell Ford for fear of never living it down. He just had to stay awake long enough to kick Bill to the curb-

Stan grimaced.

That was a bad analogy.

He just had to stay awake long enough to make sure Bill couldn't mess with Ford anymore-

There. Much better.

-and then he could go crash on the couch or something. Sure, Ford had mentioned a spare mattress the night before, but Stan wasn't counting on his charitable mood lasting now that he'd gotten some sleep and begun work on a plan. Once he had peace of mind, he'd probably be back to the tense distrust from when Stan had first shown up.

And _wow_ , had everything really happened in the past twenty-four hours? (Well, two or three days, if he started counting from the moment he'd gotten the postcard.) Maybe it was the all-nighters talking, but Stan already felt a lifetime away from that shitty motel room in Dead End Flats.

Hopefully Rico wouldn't expect "Hal Forrester" to just up and run so quickly. If he somehow found out where Stan had gone, or heaven forbid, _why_ he'd come here so fast…

He shivered, despite his jacket and the sweater Ford had given him, and stepped off the porch.

One enemy at a time, Stan. _One enemy at a time._

He had to get down to business.

〜〜〜〜〜〜

Stanford watched Stanley go, then turned to Entryway Tools Pile #3. If he remembered correctly, his moonstones ought to be somewhere inside, beneath the books that had previously been supporting the bottle of superglue. It shouldn't be _too_ difficult to relocate them and strategically place them around the house. After that, it would be a simple matter to get the mercury from the basement and cast the preparatory enchantment that would allow him to sprinkle it along wood and metal alike without causing any unwanted chemical interactions.

(He briefly recalled a particularly eventful highschool chemistry class. Stanley had somehow gotten his hands on gold leaf and had insisted on "feeding" it to their mercury sample, "Mr. Nerdcury." He'd amalgamated three whole sheets before the teacher had caught on and written him up.)

He shoved the thought aside and rolled up his sleeves, approaching Entryway Tools Pile #3. There would be time to unpack his memories of highschool (and the associated conflicting emotions) once the cabin was warded.

All he had to do was locate the moonstones.

Four Tools Piles, two Books Piles, and one Doorframe To The Head later, Stanford had to admit that he was having more trouble finding the gems than he'd initially planned for. He'd _intended_ to have both them and the mercury in place already, giving him time to go outside and check Stanley's work on the unicorn hair, but he just couldn't _get to them!_

In a stroke of cosmic irony, as he had that thought and slammed a door with a bit too much force, Kitchen Books Pile #2 destabilized, sending the uppermost books and accompanying mugs of days-old coffee sliding to the floor with a clatter.

Innocently sitting in plain view were the moonstones.

For a moment, the only movement in the house came from the oozing of globs of what had once been coffee, slowly spreading from where the now-broken mugs lay.

Then Stanford's eye twitched.

Now, Stanford wasn't the type to get explosively angry, especially not when he himself caused whatever riled him up. Even so, it took all his self-control to keep from yelling and kicking the nearest wall.

He still indulged himself with heavily stomping across the room and snatching the moonstones up with a bit more force than he normally would have.

Hurriedly tucking the moonstones into his pocket, he swept through the house and darted down into the basement.

He was shaking.

In part of his mind, it made sense. He was getting _so close_ to staking out a Bill-proof safe space, it would be surprising if he _wasn't_ having at least a little bit of an adrenaline rush.

The rest of his mind told that part to shut up and concentrate on keeping his hands steady. He didn't want to spill the mercury before it was properly warded, and _especially_ not in a room as full of metal as the basement.

Besides, having to punch in the elevator access code multiple times because his finger kept twitching to the wrong buttons was getting annoying.

Finally, he managed to get the elevator open, and he very nearly hurled himself inside. He hit the button for Basement Level 2 and leaned back against the wall, letting the quiet rattling of the elevator's descent soothe him a little.

He took a deep breath.

He let it out.

He was almost there.

He was almost _safe._

The elevator doors opened, and Stanford hurried into the study, staunchly keeping his gaze firmly locked on the cabinet containing his various elemental and chemical samples.

(Even with the sheet thrown over his _memorabilia_ …it still felt like Bill's ever-watching eye was burning a hole in the back of his head.)

Project Mentem sat in plain view, but he only offered it a passing glance as he passed it. Maybe once he had space to exist outside of Bill's influence, he could try to finish it properly, but right then, it was just a fancy-schmancy computer with half its innards spread out on the desk.

The sealed flask of mercury quickly went into the pocket opposite the moonstones, and he fled the study as fast as he dared.

With the ingredients for the protective barrier at hand, rising back up to the ground floor, Stanford let himself chuckle. It may have come out as a bit of a manic giggle, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

_He was almost safe._

〜〜〜〜〜〜

Stan wiped at his forehead and glanced along the edge of the house. He just had one more wall to glue the hair to, and he'd be done.

He turned back to the work he'd done so far and groaned. He didn't want to rush for fear of somehow doing it wrong and making the barrier thing not work, but he _also_ didn't want to stay out much longer when it was so cold out and the sun had dipped beneath the trees.

He shivered. He'd been doing that a lot.

(That probably wasn't good.)

It was probably nothing worth worrying over. This was an Oregonian winter, after all. It'd be surprising if he _wasn't_ a little chilly.

He squirted a line of glue along the foundation, then started applying the unicorn hair to it, one strand at a time. He'd run out of Pink's hair somewhere around the porch, so now he was down to Blue's and Celeste's…probably. He might just have Celeste's at this point, actually, since hers was in every possible color.

Eh.

Hair was hair.

At least the other two unicorns had gotten Celeste to stay still long enough for Ford to cut her hair, as opposed to Stan's rip-and-tear approach.

Stan slowly worked his way down the wall, only pausing at the sounds of activity from inside for a moment. It seemed Ford had finished setting up the moonstones and whatnot inside, if the burst of mad scientist cackling meant anything.

…or maybe Bill was back.

Stan peered through the window to see Ford in the middle of sprinkling something along one of the doorways. He didn't seem to be acting like Bord, but Stan still wasn't sure…

Ford stood tall and turned to head for somewhere else in the house, and when Stan caught sight of them, his eyes were his own.

Stan let out a breath he hadn't even realized he was holding, but another thought quickly struck him.

If it really _was_ just Ford, then that meant he'd spent long enough out in the woods on his own that he didn't really care about whether he sounded like the guy who'd made Frankenstein or not.

(He heard the echo of a highschool-aged Ford fondly correcting him. _"No, no, Frankenstein was the name of the doctor. The creation was called Adam or the modern Prometheus."_ )

Aaand _back into the repressed memories_ that went!

Stan had a chance to make up for breaking that damn perpetual motion machine and sending Ford down a path that led to him cackling like a mad scientist in a cabin in the middle of the woods, and he was _not_ gonna fuck it up. He knew he'd made _many_ names for himself, but he'd shift into a kid and eat his own car in one sitting if he ever gained the title of "The One Who Fucked Over Ford's Life Twice In A Row."

(If anyone were to call him a sap without self-preservation instincts, he'd be as likely to outwardly agree with them as he would be to knock out their lights, but it didn't make them any less right.)

(It didn't make it any less painful when he tried to change it, either.)

He let himself get buried in his work, painstakingly flattening each strand of unicorn hair along the line of glue and ever-so-slowly reaching the end of the house.

Stan glanced at the bag of hair- not quite empty. There was still roughly a handful or two of hair inside, but the last hair's-length of glue shimmered up at him, ready to be used. It seemed Ford would still have some unicorn hair to test on once everything was said and done.

There was nothing else for it.

Stan lifted a rainbow strand and laid it across the glue, closing the edge of the barrier.

The moment the barrier was sealed, a blue light glimmered from the unicorn hair all around the house, and an unearthly shudder ran up Stan's spine. Static tingled along his skin, though most of it centered itself around the burn on his back.

Stan had the distinct impression his worth was being weighed.

Maybe it was a supernatural thing.

Maybe it was a hunch.

Maybe it was just his mind playing tricks on him.

Whatever the reason, the stifling feeling of judgement quickly lifted, replaced by the odd sensation of mentally being patted on the head for a job well done. Blue light on the edge of being ultraviolet shot out from the unicorn hair and formed a circle around the cabin, making Stan's jaw drop as he whirled around to watch. The light crawled up through the air and closed into a dome around the house, countless sigils of all kinds lighting up in midair before fading away. In his mind's eye, (and he half-mused that he could only see it because of his not-quite-humanity,) he could still see the afterimages hovering around the cabin, twinkling faintly like the snow.

(He wondered if any of them matched the one on his back.)

"Welp. That's definitely magical." Stan stated, shoving those thoughts aside in favor of pushing himself to his feet. He grunted as his legs made it Very Clear how unhappy they were with him, but he still set off for the porch, ready to get out of the cold. "Wonder what Ford'll think of my glue job. The glowy blue stuff means it shoulda worked, right?"

Right.

It _had_ to.

Stan yawned and poked his head back into the house. "Hey, Stanford, I think the barrier's up."

He didn't get an immediate reply, though it sounded like Ford was rummaging through some stuff in another room, so Stan took it upon himself to shut the front door behind him and follow the noise. More kinda-visible afterimages shimmered along the walls as he walked, but he didn't really pay them much attention. As long as they didn't up and disappear when they were needed, Ford would be fine.

Finally reaching the room Ford had gotten to work in, Stan knocked lightly on the wall. "Stanford, I got the unicorn hair thing done. Where should I put the rest of-?"

Ford's head popped up from between two stacks of junk, and the haphazard pile on the table(?) next to him slid to the floor.

A bedpost came into view in the newly-created gap in the mess.

Ford blinked and readjusted his glasses. "Ah, Stanley. When I saw the magical light burst from the moonstones and mercury as I finished setting them up, I figured you must have completed the outermost barrier."

"Uh, yep. You've still got a bit of hair left, too." Stan nodded and gave the pouch of unicorn hair a little shake, then glanced around the room a little more. "What's, uh, what's going on in here?"

"Didn't I mention getting the spare mattress ready for its original purpose? I could have sworn I mentioned it." Ford murmured to himself, scratching the scruff on his chin in thought.

Stan's eyes widened.

_Oh._

Ford had _meant_ it.

"Oh, yeah, you _did_ say something like that." Stan managed a quiet chuckle. "Guess my mind's all over the place lately, is all. Must've forgot."

Haha. Right. _"Forgot."_

"…well, once the bed is clear, I would recommend you get some rest." Ford eventually said. "Operating on low sleep in such a high-stakes situation is a recipe for disaster."

Stan nailed him with an unimpressed stare. "Oh, hello there, Mr. Pot. I'm Mr. Kettle."

"Wh-?! Buh-! It was different before you arrived!" Ford protested.

"I know, I _know,_ I'm just saying." Stan shrugged and let it go. (For now.)

At that moment, his stomach rumbled, startling him and making Ford jump. Stan forced a shaky grin. "So, uh, got anything besides peas?"

Ford mirrored it. "Only if canned beans and brown meat suits your fancy."

"Damn." Stan snapped his fingers in defeat. "Well, it's better than nothing. Let's go eat something."

He backed away from the door long enough for Ford to get past, but before following him back to the kitchen, Stan gazed at the unburied bedpost for a moment longer.

A small smile grew on his face, and the dust in the air started getting a bit too close to his eyes for comfort.

Even though it wasn't going to last, even though there was no way it _could_ last, Ford didn't want him gone. It certainly wasn't the resounding apology or reconciliation he'd hoped for, but…he could pretend.

He'd pretend for as long as he was able.

"Stanley, are you coming?"

He blinked rapidly, then turned back to Ford. "Yeah, yeah, don't get yourself all worked up."

〜〜〜〜〜〜

That night, Stan slept more soundly than he had in a decade.

He slept, and he _dreamed._

〜〜〜

Colors streamed past him in every direction.

In the usual way of dreams, while he couldn't see himself, he Knew he was riding along one of the colorful streams, floating down it like a river.

A ways downriver, on one of the offshoots that had split off from his own somewhere upstream, a blinding ball of light shot up and into the nonexistent sky before falling back down. Instead of landing in the same offshoot, however, it crashed into his stream, sending a wave as tall as his brother's cabin racing up towards him.

He sucked in a breath and braced himself, but the wave merely passed through him with ease.

He spun around to watch the last of the waves sink back into the regular rippling of the river, back where it split off from the parent stream.

Much in the way he Knew where he was, he Knew without checking that he was heading straight for the crashsite of the blinding light.

He turned back to face the oncoming light, squinting as it approached-

-and the river around him lit aflame, ice burning him as a manic laughter rang through his skull.

He found himself gathering the light together and clinging to it for dear life, even as the river bucked beneath him and gave way to the endless nothing, nothing, nothing, and the light was screaming, screaming, screaming, and he was falling, falling, _falling-!_

〜〜〜

In the cabin in the woods, Stan snapped awake in a cold sweat.

Whatever he'd been dreaming about quickly faded to the back of his mind, leaving only an unshakeable sense of foreboding.

Having dealt with nightmares before, however, Stan just shuddered and rolled over. He had to get his sleep while he could, after all.

He drew the blankets closer to himself and shivered.

He was _fine._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *john cena voice* Are You Sure About That? :)
> 
> there's nothing foreboding going on here, nosiree!
> 
> fun fact mercury amalgamation is a real thing and it's fun to watch and definitely a pressing concern if the unicorn barrier needs ford to, _and i quote,_ "sprinkle some mercury" in places all over the shack :D join me in the [mercury rabbit hole](https://youtube.com/playlist?list=PL-QiXejnoTUUb_sHhyi97ytJSyssJnnI0) if you dare


	6. Finally, Some Shapeshifting Stan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Stan finally lives up to the AU's name for more than three seconds, and Ford has to work through some baggage of his own. Also, a grocery run is made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yall ever get writer's block for a specific section of your story, but you can write all the stuff that comes right after it with ease? yeah that's been me this past month with the second part of this chapter. on the upside i have some more content ready to go! :D
> 
> i also tried something new with the chapter upload. i wanna see if i can schedule it to post at a later date than when i hit the button, but so far i got nothing. :/
> 
> unrelated but i accidentally broke my cat-ear headphones i got for Christmas and yet somehow figured out a way to make them still usable using only duct tape and string, so i'm gonna be riding that high all day >:D
> 
> warnings: ford briefly remembers that one time the shapeshifter made him doubt his own identity and has the beginnings of a panic attack, and, of course, a bit more of the usual "stanley swears-a-lot" fare.

Stan blinked awake with a groan.

What time was it…?

He shifted to glance out the window and see if he could figure out how long the sun had been up-

_-this wasn't his car._

He pushed himself up and warily glanced around wherever-he-was. It was lit dimly by the light from the window, but it was _definitely_ not his car, if the complete mess of notes and whatsits was anything to go by. And…somehow he'd managed to get his hands on a real, actual mattress? How on earth had he managed _that?_ The last he remembered-

-oh. Yeah. Right. He'd gotten to Ford's place and helped him ward the place against that "Bill" bastard. He'd had a weird nightmare of some kind after, but that was pretty par for the course.

Stan let himself relax against the bed and rubbed at his eyes. He'd have thought a good night's sleep would've helped him feel at least a _little_ bit better.

Instead, his head was _killing_ him.

It wasn't anything he hadn't pushed through before, though, so he just grit his teeth and rolled out of bed. He had to see if Ford had a plan for the way-too-empty fridge, and from what he'd seen over the past few days, he was pretty sure Ford's self-care skills were just as terrible as they'd been back in Jersey.

He slipped his arms into the sleeves of his jacket and frowned. Usually he at least felt a _bit_ warmer with it on. Even wearing the sweater Ford had loaned him over the rest of his clothes didn't help, but he tried it anyway.

Maybe Ford had been neglecting the heating bill or something.

Oh well. There was nothing he could do about it, at least not while he was still in the bedroom Ford was letting him use.

He shivered and picked his way through the mess to the door. Noise from the kitchen told him Ford was up and moving, so he didn't worry _too_ much about being quiet as he poked his head into the room. "Morning, Stanford."

Ford jumped slightly in his seat, but quickly relaxed when he saw Stan. "Ah-! Oh, good morning, Stanley. You slept well, I presume?"

Something in the back of Stan's mind said _no, not exactly,_ but it was overruled by the rest of him saying, "Like a baby. What about you? Bill didn't get in your head overnight, did he?"

"No, he didn't." Ford answered as though the words were still hard to believe. "I actually got multiple hours of restful sleep. Consecutively, even!"

"Good." Stan grinned and sat down at the table. "So, what's the plan now?"

Please say something about food or heating, _please say something about food or heating._

"I'm torn, actually." Ford said. "On the one hand, now that the house is effectively cut off from Bill's influence, I have a couple projects that could advance our defenses against him further that really ought to be finished sometime soon. On the other hand, between the two of us, I doubt the meager food supplies in the house will last much longer than a day or two."

Stan frowned, then held up a finger in realization. "Wait, that's two things. There's two of us."

Ford blinked. "…you're right."

"Since I'm not the scientist, I'm thinking…I oughta head out for food?" Stan's suggestion came out as more of a question than he'd meant it to be. Whoops.

"That would probably be best." Ford agreed. "Besides, after the last time I went out, I'll admit, I am rather loathe to do so again."

"Why? What happened?"

"Bill, he…" A shudder ran up Ford's spine as he spoke, his eyes growing wider and wider. "…everyone in the truck stop, he had them _all_ under his sway. The experience was unnerving, to say the least. All of their eyes, yellow and staring at me, watching, _watching-!_ "

Stan gulped. Ford needed to snap out of it, _fast._

" _Whoa,_ 'kay, Stanford, look at me." Stan reached across the table, his hand hovering unsurely over Ford's arm. "Bill can't get to you in here, remember? You're safe."

Ford nodded frantically, clenching and unclenching his fists for a moment before taking a shaky breath. "Right. He can't get to me. I'm safe. I'm _safe._ "

"Yeah, there you go." Stan tried to keep his voice soothing. "Alright, so you're _definitely_ not on grocery duty. If Bill tries that on me, I can handle myself, but…this is just me spitballing here, so feel free to correct me if I'm wrong, but I'm not sure he _can._ "

Ford blinked and stared at him. "…we _are_ still talking about the same Bill, right?"

Stan held his hands up placatingly. "Look, hear me out on this. He tricked you into trusting him, which led to him being able to possess you, which meant _he couldn't possess you beforehand,_ yeah? What if he's able to screw with your mind, too? Make you see stuff that's not there, like, say, an entire truck stop full of possessed people? Seems more likely to me than him getting his weird little triangle fingers in every mind on the planet, or at least the ones around Gravity Falls."

Ford lifted a finger as though to correct him, but his words caught in his throat. "I…hm. That's…that's a sound hypothesis."

Stan beamed. "Hoped it was. When I go get food, that can be how we test it. Bill's _gotta_ be pissed at both of us at this point, but he's only got access to your mind, not mine. Either he can sic the town on me or he can't, and I'm betting he can't."

Ford looked as though he wanted to say something, but he changed his mind at the last second. "In that case, to remove as many variables as possible…perhaps you ought to borrow my shape when you go. If I myself am vulnerable, but a look-alike is not…"

Stan held back a grimace. "You sure? From the sound of it, you haven't really had great luck with this sort of thing before." The way Ford had gone ballistic when he'd thought Stan was "Shifty" was proof of _that._

"I'm sure." Ford nodded firmly.

"Well, uh, in that case…here goes."

Stan drummed his fingers on the table, took a deep breath, and closed his eyes.

(Hm. Was this actually the first time he'd purposefully done this in front of someone for more than a few seconds? What had been the odds his _brother_ would be the first person to see him shift?)

The change was subtler than usual, but since Ford was his _twin,_ it made sense. His chin split slightly to match Ford's own, and his mullet shrank back to mirror the way Ford's hair had only grown more fluffy since high school. His gut shrank a bit, as did his shoulders. Was that all? He was a bit scattered with the fact that _he had an audience_ weighing on him, but that was probably all he had to-

Oh, wait. Duh. He still had to make a _major_ change.

Stan focused harder. He'd been people with all kinds of unique facial features before, so adding an extra finger to each hand would be a piece of cake. The extra sensations along the sides of his hands nearly startled him out of the zone, but he managed to finish growing the extra fingers before opening his eyes.

Ford stared at him, caught somewhere between "pale as a ghost" and "full of burning curiousity and questions."

Still using his own voice, Stan did some little jazz hands. "Uh. Ta-da?"

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence, where Stan felt more like a specimen than a Stan and Ford looked more like a scientist than his brother.

And then it passed.

" _Incredible._ " Ford breathed. "A completely different mechanism than that employed by Shifty, one that leaves your clothing intact and only alters your physical appearance. And your voice isn't necessarily required to match the form you take?"

"Not really." Stan shrugged. "Listen to this, though." He cleared his throat for effect, then, in Ford's voice, said, "Look at me, I'm a genius with a bajillion PhDs who can't remember to feed himself!"

Ford snorted, almost as though caught off-guard. "Ha, _ha._ I'm not _that_ bad."

"You sure about that?" Stan grinned, dropping back out of Ford's voice. "You're down to peas, beans, and meat, and there's not much of any of it left."

"…I believe _I_ will plead the fifth this time."

Stan snickered, though he faked a cough when Ford glanced at him.

"Let me get some spare clothes to further complete the 'transformation,' as it were." Ford continued, standing up from the table. "I'll be right back."

"I'll be here." Stan shot off a sloppy salute and watched him head for the hall.

Once he was alone, he grimaced and rubbed at his eyes. Shifting while feeling shitty was apparently an even worse idea than he'd remembered. His body felt like it weighed twice what it should've. Hell, even though he'd just woken up, he felt like he'd probably fall right back asleep any second now.

He slapped his cheeks in an effort to stay awake.

Oh well.

There was nothing he could do about it, at least not until after he got back with food.

〜〜〜〜〜〜

Stanford draped one of his trenchcoats over his arm alongside a pair of slacks. Since Stanley still had the sweater from the day before, he would just have to switch out his pants for Stanford's and throw the trenchcoat on over the sweater.

…Stanford tried not to think too hard about how Stanley had essentially volunteered to paint a target on his back to get their food supplies and put Stanford's mind at ease.

With his free hand, he rummaged through Master Bedroom Miscellany Pile #1 for a moment and dug out one of his spare pairs of glasses. Once Stanley put them on, he would effectively _become_ Stanford to the untrained eye. Possibly even to the _trained_ eye!

Stanford wasn't exactly sure how to feel about it. On the one hand, it had been years since they'd successfully pulled off a twin-switch on anyone, let alone a whole town. On the other, the circumstances of this particular switch were…well, Stanford wished he didn't have to think about the circumstances.

Evidence suggested that over the past decade, Stanley hadn't changed as much as _been_ changed, and not just in the obvious way.

…that was a thought for a later date.

Stanford took a deep breath and let it out slowly before turning on his heel and heading back out to the kitchen. With any luck, Stanley would be able to quickly switch into Stanford's clothes and buy the food they would-

A thought struck him.

Stanley had mentioned some of the things he'd had to do to survive the past ten years during their fight in the basement. At the time, Stanford had been, how could he put it…

(Stanford shoved the memory of his brother's scream into the darkest recesses of his mind.)

_…not entirely rational,_ so he hadn't really paid much attention, but now he wished he had. If he'd paid closer attention, perhaps he'd have an answer to the question of "what had Stanley been through," and by extension, "whether Stanley had left his home or _driven it up to Oregon._ "

Well, it was possible he didn't have to make a big deal of it.

He would simply…put his wallet into the spare trenchcoat's pocket and try not to draw too much attention to the fact that Stanley may or may not be homeless and therefore short on money.

Yes. Perfect!

A plan in mind, Stanford did exactly that before re-entering the kitchen. For a moment, Stanley looked twice as tired as he had before, but then he perked right back up at Stanford's reappearance.

(If _that_ was how Stanford had looked when Stanley first arrived, it was no wonder Stanley had insisted he go to sleep.)

It was probably just a trick of the light.

"Here we are." Stanford announced, handing the bundle of clothes over. "The bathroom is just down the hall."

"Gotcha." Stanley nodded and took the clothes as he headed to change.

Stanford spent the minutes before Stanley's exit from the bathroom preparing himself. Watching Stanley shapeshift in front of him was one thing. In that instance, Stanford could observe the entire process and squash the terror before it became a problem.

Knowing Stanley would walk out, looking well and truly identical to him, right down to the clothes on his back…

_"What? I'm not Shifty, y-_ you _are!"_

Stanley wasn't the Shapeshifter he'd left in the bunker. Stanley had been a mischievious boy and grown into a criminal man, but he wasn't outright _cruel._

_"Maybe there's a silver lining? Huh? Treasure hunting?"_

…he wasn't _that_ cruel, at least. Besides, Stanley's behavior since arriving had been anything (and everything) but uncaring!

He was only Stanley!

The bathroom door swung open, and Stanley stepped out, looking for all the world like Stanford's doppelganger. He'd pulled the trenchcoat on over his sweater, and he was in the slacks Stanford had picked out, though he only put on the glasses once he shut the door behind him.

Stanford forced down a gasp.

In his own voice, Stanley snorted. "I look like a _nerd._ "

The tension building in Stanford's head all fell away, and he couldn't help a small smile of his own. "Not just _any_ nerd. _This_ nerd, specifically."

Stanley rolled his eyes and dug his hands into the pockets of his borrowed trenchcoat, lifting something up. "Oh, by the way, I think you forgot this in here."

The wallet.

Stanford's mind raced for a moment, but then he came to the perfect excuse. "My memory is fine. It's there because I should be the one to take the financial hit, since we're currently dealing with _my_ problems."

"Oh. Okay." Stanley seemed shaken, but before Stanford could press the matter, he shoved the wallet back into his pocket and gave a noncommittal shrug. "In that case, I think I'm pretty much set to go. Unless you have any last-minute warnings or something?"

"Not a _warning,_ but…" Stanford conceded, "…if you happen across my old research assistant, Fiddleford, could you try to keep an eye on him? We parted on…less-than-ideal terms, and I'm rather worried about his state of mind."

"I'll keep an eye out." Stanley nodded.

"Then in that case, drive safe." Stanford mirrored him.

"Be back in a bit." Stanley flashed him a thumbs-up and shuffled out the front door, and Stanford watched him trek through the snow and down the path.

Wait.

Where had Stanley left the clothing he'd been wearing since he first showed up? He hadn't been holding it in his hands…he must have simply left it in the bathroom.

Stanford poked his head into the bathroom to check, planning to perhaps get a load of laundry started for the first time in far too long before delving into his work-

-but all he saw in the bathroom were his own belongings.

…that was probably alright. Stanley must have simply been layering up in preparation for the winter chill. It was quite understandable, frankly. After dealing with Oregonian snow all day yesterday, spending a sizable chunk of it in a threadbare hoodie, Stanford wouldn't want to repeat the experience either.

Having come to that sensible conclusion, Stanford turned and headed for the basement.

He might get Project Mentem working yet. With a night's sleep under his belt and the promise of unexpired food on the way, he was _positive_ he could figure out whatever had him so stumped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> stan, ford, _buddies,_ i feel like it's been established how badly things go when you two assume things
> 
> i wanna bring the shapeshifter back into the fold for double trouble _so bad_ yall dont even know
> 
> (i also [drew part of the boys' conversation](https://roseverdict.tumblr.com/post/644391909789466624/i-drew-it) because it was just too dang funny to me skdbskdmslsk)

**Author's Note:**

> shapeshifter!stan thoughts, head full
> 
> anyway i may or may not add more to this. and by "may or may not add more" i mean "i've already written a bunch of ideas down and even expanded on a few but i'm not sure i can trust myself to make them into Proper Chapters"


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